The Dori Story
by theladyofgondor
Summary: When Dori decides he wants to be a hero, he sets off on an adventure to prove to the others that he isn't the fussy old dwarf they think he is.
1. Chapter 1

**THE DORI STORY**

Chapter One

"That's two copper pieces, not one." A man told the short, gray haired dwarf beneath him.

The dwarf stared up, a perturbed glimmer in his eye as he stroked the precious coins in his hand. "Two?" he repeated. The man snapped his suspenders, and stuck his thumb in them as country folk often do. "That's business."

The dwarf scowled. "No. That's _robbery_. Forget it, I don't want them." And with that, he slammed the apples back into the box and walked off in a huff.

This spirited dwarf was known as Dori. You might remember him as being one of Thorin Oakenshield's companions, or perhaps you've never even heard about him at all. Either way, this is his story, and it starts when the dwarves still inhabited the Blue Mountains, long before Thorin's daring quest to reclaim Erebor. Dwarves age differently than humans, so the dwarves still look very much like they will in the future, except for Kili, Fili, and Ori, who are mere children.

"Aye, no apples, eh?" A jolly voice came from behind, grabbing the empty basket out of Dori's grasp. "Bofur!" Dori cried out in annoyance, snatching his basket back. "The way that—" Dori was about to say something bad about the shopkeeper, but he held his tongue when he felt the warm hands of his young brother Ori gripping his leg. "—That _fiend_ charges for apples, you'd think they were a rare delicacy. Any ragamuffin can go pick apples. Why, if you swung a dead cat, you'd hit three apple trees. Two copper pieces for apples! Robbery! Pure robbery!" Dori went on like this for a few more minutes, and Bofur patiently listened, whittling away on his newest project. "Well, why don't you and the lads go and pick some then?" Bofur offered when Dori took a breath.

Ori's eyes lit up. "Oh yes, lets!" the little voice cried, looking up at his older brother expectingly. Dori pressed his hair down and winced. "I don't have enough time." he admitted, wishing he could reply differently. "Maybe we could tomorrow."

Ori's face fell, but Bofur picked up his chin and pulled his hat over the young dwarfs head. "Tell you what Ori. You run home and get Kili and Fili, and I'll take you." Bofur said. This offer was met with a delighted smile, and shy Ori ran off as fast as his little legs could carry him. "You always have to be the hero." Dori muttered jealously. "You'll get your chance one day." Bofur told him kindly, giving him a friendly slap on the back. Dori flinched away as if the blow had been painful. "I should say not. Me a hero! Preposterous. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get home. Goodbye. Have fun wasting your time whittling that chunk of wood and stealing my brother from me."

Bofur took no offense at the pathetic retort, and laughed instead. "Aye, I'll do just that! So long, Dori."

On his way home, the word "hero" kept creeping into Dori's thoughts. "I wish I could be a hero." He finally sighed, his heart leaping a little when he said the word out loud. It was hard being known as the "fussy dwarf with rich taste". Everyone teased him when he used his manners, and when he drank tea with his little pinky up, and when he slid his silver clasps over his beard. They said he was "a riot", but Dori didn't think so. He claimed it was his "fine breeding", and they were uncultured swine for not understanding.

But now as he walked down the dusty road, Dori was starting to wish he wasn't so finely bred. He felt lonely, and he had a suspicion that everyone in town hated him. That was untrue, of course. No one hated him (except for the shopkeeper when he discovered that his apples were bruised). It comforted him to feel sorry for himself however, but being a victim was far less desirable than being a hero.

That night, Ori drew a picture of Bofur, Fili, Kili, and himself gathered around an apple tree, smiling up into Bofur's jolly face as he told his story. When Dori found it, he was overcome by jealousy. "He never draws _me_." was his huffy remark, as he purposely set his teacup over Bofur's face. This was also untrue, because Ori _had_ drawn him once. His very first drawing was of Dori and Nori arguing, and he drew himself in the background covering his ears and crying.

"You seem mad, brother." Nori observed from across the table. "Mad?" Dori snapped, crumbling his crackers into his soup. "Why would I be mad?"

Nori shrugged. "I don't know. You get mad at the weirdest things. Like last Friday when I said "confound it", and you were convinced it was a cuss word and had to look it up in the dictionary." Dori pointed his spoon at him threateningly. "Count your lucky stars it _wasn't._ There will be no language in my home."

"I know, I know. But come on brother, what's eating you?"

Dori sighed deeply. " _I don't think anyone likes me._ " The eldest admitted, setting his spoon down for dramatic effect.

This reason surprised Nori, but he managed to conceal it. "That's all?" he replied blandly, " _everyone_ likes you, Dor. I don't even know why'd you say such a foolish thing like that."

Nori's response rolled right off Dori, who had been hoping for a much more detailed explanation. "Perhaps so. But _why_ do they like me?"

This question baffled him. He had never really thought about it before. "Well," he swallowed, anxiously glancing around the room for inspiration, "you're a good cook." he suggested, his gaze fixated on the frying pan that hung beside the fireplace. "That's all?" Dori choked out, bitterly disappointed. "People only like me because of my _food?_ "

Nori mistook his brother's pain for pleasure. "Yes. Yes, your food is very good." he said with a content smile, congratulating himself on being so tactful.

That's when it happened.

Something very unexpected awoke in Dori's soul.

He suddenly felt courageous. Daring, even. He felt like he could travel the world by himself, or slay the greatest of foes. He was going to prove to the dwarves that he wasn't some fussy old dwarf who could only cook and clean. He was going to prove that he was a _hero_.

With this newfound courage, he decided that there wasn't any time to waste. On impulse, he flew out of his chair, grabbed his dusty old travel bag from underneath his bed, and started blindly throwing in clothes. "What are you doing?!" poor Nori cried out, horribly confused. "Leaving." was Dori's brisk response as he flung his bedroom slippers into the bag.

"You can't leave!"

"I can, and I _am!_ "

"Not forever, I hope."

"Maybe." Dori said dryly, not really meaning it of course.

If Nori hadn't been a full grown man, he might've sat down and wept. His older brother was so dependable, and to see him abandoning them shook his world. "Where will you go?" the younger one said, as his brother stood halfway out the doorway. "Wherever the wind takes me." was his reply, and it sounded so heroic that he got chills whenever he replayed the scene in his mind.

This was the beginning of Dori's adventure, and his first step into becoming a hero.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Dori Story: Chapter 2**

That night, Nori called a meeting to discuss the peculiar actions of his brother. When seated, there were ten dwarves that attended: Thorin, his younger sister Dís, Gloin, Gloin's wife (who would soon be mother to Gimli), Oin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dwalin, and Balin.

Nori stood at the front of the table, and looking down at his guests, he announced with severity: "Tonight we discuss my brother Dori."

After this important introduction was made, the dwarves felt it alright to talk, and the room erupted in chatter. "I can't believe he left." Bofur told Oín, as he shook his head. "I hope it wasn't something _I_ did." Dwalin mumbled to his brother. "I always knew he was going to do something crazy like this." Gloin prophesied, waving his turkey leg in the air.

"We should try to find him and convince him to come back." Dís suggested gently. This was met with cheers of approval, and a few of the dwarves got up and started to get ready for the hunt.

While all this was going on, Thorin was sitting quietly with his arms folded. "I say we let him go." he said after some length, silencing the room with the strange idea. " _Let him go?!_ " echoed Nori, dropping his (unlit) torch in surprise. "He's a grown man. He can do what he likes. And anyways..." Thorin said, breaking into a sly grin, "you know Dori. The brutality of the wilderness will send him back in an hour."

What he said made sense, and the dwarves chastised themselves for allowing Dori's disappearance to get the better of them.

Nori was still conflicted however; Dori was _his_ brother after all, but he didn't bother arguing with Thorin. Dís sensed his uncertainty, so when everyone else left the house, she lingered behind. "If your brother isn't back by morning, you can bring Ori over to play with my boys when you go to work." she offered kindly, knowing the dwarf knew nothing about caring for children. Nori thanked the good lady repeatedly as she left, and then went to bed with a heavy heart.

Meanwhile...

Dori walked down the dusty West Road, already a mile away from his home. There was no wind tonight, so he couldn't follow it as he said he would, and he was forced to rely on his own sense of direction (which was rather rusty, I'm afraid).

On he walked, too determined to stop even though his eyelids were starting to droop. Just when he was about to give up and call it a night... He heard the faint trotting of hooves and the sound of wagon wheels lazily turning into earth.

He wasn't alone!

Dori's first thought was: "Good heavens! Bandits!", and he considered running into the ditch and laying flat on his stomach. Luckily drastic action was not needed. As the wagon came into view, it proved to be only a farmer on his way home from the market. When he saw Dori, he reared his horse and said: "How do you do!"

Dori said "How do you do" back, as any one with manners might've done, and the farmer, noticing he was on foot, offered him a ride. "Maybe," Dori replied, looking forlornly at his sore feet, "where are you going?"

"Mjaduîn." the farmer said. Dori was no geography scholar, but he new Mjaduîn was a small town south of where they were. "Alright." Dori said, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "You can git in the back there with the milk jugs and the hay, if ya don't mind." the farmer said. Dori minded, but he dolefully climbed into the back of the wagon anyways. There was barely any room, so he was forced to prop his legs up on a few milk jugs. At least the hay was comfortable (once you got over the itchiness factor).

The farmer never said much during the ride, and it suited Dori perfectly. He had just drifted into a peaceful sleep when...

" _My fair lady stood on a green hill,_

 _her hair shrouded in dew._

 _She weaved her tapestries with great skill,_

 _and had a voice that seldom knew._

 _One day she left, she had her fill,_

 _and ran off into the blue._

 _And that's the last I saw of her,_

 _my fair lady who stood on the green hill._ "

"Excuse me, I'm trying to sleep!" Dori shouted. The old man craned his head back. "Sorry Dwarf, Puddleby here likes my singing, so you'll just haf to put up with et."

"Good heavens, who's Puddleby?"

"My mare." the man answered, looking at the beast proudly. Since Puddleby could not be denied her musical performance, Dori was forced to listen to the old farmers caterwauling the entire five hour ride. His songs never made much sense, and his voice went from croaky to shrill, but please keep in mind that a horse doesn't have very good music taste, so you can't blame her for enjoying it.


	3. Chapter 3

The Dori Story

Chapter 3

Dori woke up with warm sunlight beaming down on his face, and the feeling of scratchy straw poking into his skin. His eyes were focused upwards at the deep blue sky, and for a moment, he completely forgot where he was. Where were his brothers? And why was he moving? Reality sunk in just as soon as the farmer began to sing.

Dori dusted hay out of his hair. "Could you please keep it down? It's too early for singing," he said, jamming his fingers in his ears. Was becoming a hero really worth all this? The farmer turned around in his seat, and smiled in amusement. "It's never too early for singing! Besides dwarf, it's nearly half past seven! You overslept."

Dori scowled. Seven was early for him. "Have we passed any towns yet?"

The farmer shook his head. "No, I haven't seen any towns or signage in the last…Oh, twenty-six miles, or so. Come to think of it, the last sign I saw was where I picked you up." Dori's eyes widened in alarm. "You mean we've only traveled _twenty-six_ miles since I fell asleep?" The farmer nodded. "Yes, that sounds about right. I'm awful proud of Puddleby. She typically doesn't move this fast. Guess she's trying to show off for you, stranger."

"Tell her I'm not impressed," was Dori's grumpy reply. He was convinced that he could've _ran_ twenty-six miles in the time it took Puddleby to trot thirteen. Whither or not Dori was being impractical, I leave to the digression of the reader.

"Mjaduin should be coming up in the next six hours, though… Maybe even five, considering how fast this mare's going! You're welcome to ride the rest of the way there, if you like." Dori's feet were still sore from the long walk he took the night before, so he begrudgingly decided to stay. After all, what was five hours? Now that he was on his own, he could spend his time as foolishly as he wished.

By the time the fourth hour came along, Puddleby started to slow down. Her neigh sounded raspy, and her ears were down. Now that the wagon was moving slow enough, Dori was able to stand up. "She looks sick," he observed, nodding his head towards the mare. The farmer paled. "So I've noticed, dwarf. I was trying to put the thought out of my mind, but now that you brung it to my attention, I _can't_ ignore it."

Puddleby whinnied. "You should stop the wagon and tend to her." Dori suggested, instantly feeling a sense of pity. He had been complaining about Puddleby so viciously in his mind, that he almost felt responsible for her ill health. After some hesitance, the farmer obeyed, and stopped the wagon. "Puddleby's the only friend I have in the world," the farmer murmured fretfully, stroking her snout. Dori hopped out of the wagon and walked over to the horse. "How old is she?" The farmer shrugged. "I don't rightly know, dwarf. Maybe twenty years? I got her as a pony on my twentieth birthday." Dori blinked slowly. "Well then, how old are you?" The farmer plucked a fly off his nose. "Fifty-five." "Then that makes Puddleby thirty-five years old."

"No, I reckon she's twenty."

"But you said that you got her on your twentieth birthday. Twenty taken away from fifty-five is thirty-five."

"No, dwarf. She's twenty. Don't argue with me. I know my own mare's age."

"She's thirty-five."

"Twenty."

"Thirty-five!"

There was suddenly a great thud, and Dori and the farmer exchanged horrified glances. In short, Puddleby was neither twenty or thirty-five. She was dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Puddleby received a touching burial. The farmer sang a few of her favorite songs (even though his voice was hoarse from crying), and Dori managed to say some mighty good things about her. "Puddleby was the finest horse I ever met," Dori stammered out. It wasn't true of course. Dori had met much finer horses in his time, but it was the right thing to say. "She walked decently fast for being thirty-five years old…" The farmer looked up and glared, "… _twenty_ years old." Dori took a deep breath. "She will be sorely missed." The farmer scattered a few iris's on her grave (her favorite flower), and thus ended the funeral.

The farmer was heartbroken, so he was willing to abandon his entire wagon and its contents. "It's no use selling my wares anymore. Not without Puddleby," he said. Dori didn't bother arguing…In fact, he was rather pleased. He didn't feel like dragging a wagon all the way into Mjaduin. It was an hour walk to the small, offbeat village, and by the time they arrived, Dori's feet were sorer than before, and he had a sunburn on the back of his neck.

"Well," the farmer said, gesturing to the outstretched town before them, "this is it. It was nice meeting you, dwarf. Thanks for helping me attend to Puddleby." Dori nodded, unsure what to say. The farmer looked so sad…so downtrodden and weary. It was as if part of him had died with Puddleby. As the farmer walked off with his head hung low and his shoulders drooping, Dori couldn't help but feel sorry for him. "I wish there was something I could do," he told himself, looking around the town for an answer. His eyes suddenly landed on a brightly painted sign, and an idea popped into his head. He hesitated. Should he? Even though Dori's mind didn't agree, his heart knew it was the right thing to do. "You're absolutely ridiculous, Dori," he muttered to himself, walking over to the building.

Dori stepped into the livery stable, and quickly covered his nose. It reeked of…well, I'm sure you know what. The man in charge spotted the dwarf, and said a big jolly "hello!" to acknowledge him. "Hello," Dori replied briskly, still pinching his nose. He looked around the stable and spotted only two horses, three donkeys, and one haggard looking goat. "Do you have anything younger?" Dori asked, observing the horses critically. They looked like they were in the same state of health as the late Puddleby. "I have a pony," the man offered, leading Dori into a separate room. The second Dori laid eyes on the small creature, he knew she was perfect. Dori fished the money out of his pouch, and counted it in his hand. He had thirty silver pieces, which was more than enough for a horse that age. "How much is she?" Dori questioned, kneeling beside her. "The amount in your hand will do," the man replied, rubbing his palms together greedily. " _The amount in my hand!_ Preposterous! No indeed. This young thing is only worth ten silver pieces, not thirty."

"Thirty is the only amount I'll take. My wife loves this pony, see, and if I'm going to break her heart, thirty silver pieces it'll have to be."

"Is there any other stables around here?"

The man grinned, knowing that he had all the cards. "Nope, I'm the only one. Don't beat around the bush, now. Are you going to buy her or not?" Dori reluctantly emptied the contents of his hand onto the counter. "You're a crook...an honest to goodness thief! If I wasn't such a fool, I would refuse your offer on the spot." Dori grabbed the pony's reigns and stomped out of the building. The young creature had trouble keeping up with the dwarf's brisk speed, but she ambled along behind him gleefully, glad to be out of the dark stable. "Don't get too attached to me, now," Dori told the pony when she looked him in the eye, "you're going to be a present."

Dori spotted the farmer across the street. He was sitting on the stoop of a shambled old inn, absently whittling a piece of wood. "What do you have there, dwarf?" the farmer asked. Dori sighed. "This is the pony I had waiting for me at the livery stable. I don't have the funds to take care of her anymore, and I have to find a new owner for her by tonight. I need to leave town tomorrow, and I can't take a pony with me… Do you know of anyone who might want her?" The farmer dropped his chunk of wood in surprise. "Well… I could take her, if it would help you any. She's a nice pony…almost as pretty as Puddleby!" Dori smiled. "Capital! Well, here she is. You can name her anything you like. I must be going now. Take good care of her." The farmer nodded silently, tears forming in his eyes. Even though Dori was careful not to disclose the truth behind the pony, the farmer understood. "I never met a kinder person in my life," the farmer told his new friend, "if more people were like that dwarf, the world would be a better place."


End file.
